


retrospective

by Eon-Flamewing (eonflamewing)



Category: Elsword (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, semi-au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2019-11-08 16:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 18,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17984468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eonflamewing/pseuds/Eon-Flamewing
Summary: It is an honour to serve the Goddess.(Stream-of-consciousness style fic.)





	1. Chapter 1

[♫](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8KDijmVw8Bw)

 

\--- 

 

“What have I done?”

 

Bluhen pauses midway washing through his hands, and looks up from the fountain. The water flows smoothly over his ungloved fingers, clear and crisp.

“What have you done, indeed?”

Richter looks down. There on the marbled terrace path is the shattered remains of a projection sword, the shards glittering in the fading afternoon sunlight like a butterfly’s wing. Maybe he should have picked them up, but there is no need to. The glass will fade in time.

So, what has he done?

(There wasn’t even a sound when the blade splintered to pieces.)

The silence stretches on as his eyes remain fixed on the tiles, and the constellation dusting them. He doesn’t avert his gaze until every last spot of blue has faded away.

His sibling dries his hand on a cloth hanging by the fountain’s basin and walks over, his footsteps crunching on the snow. There is silence on this winter’s day until he puts a hand on Richter’s shoulder, prompting the other to look up.

He sees himself reflected clearly in those blue eyes, like a looking-glass.

“Hm. I think you’re just tired. You didn’t rest last night, did you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Bluhen sighs, straightening up. “Can’t have you outside slaying things if you break your weapon, you know?”

“I know.” A faint flicker of annoyance, a draw of his brow. “It won’t happen again.”

Usually, when Richter says a definitive, he means it. The man leaves no room for error, no matter how small; as if he had simply rejected the possibility entirely by the use of his authority alone. It was what earned him his place as the most favoured of Ishmael, after all… but even then: what has he done?

 

Does anyone even have an answer to that question?

 

\--- 

 

The temple is quiet after dark. The humans are gone; back to their homes for their daily rest. Nobody is here save for the angels, whose number is small enough to count on one hand.

One of the humans kept the lamps in the prayer hall lit even after nightfall. There are still humans here - they outnumber the angels more than ten to one, and he can’t help but think of them as how they might think of sheep. Things meant to be herded around and guided, and not much more.

(There is a rightful place for everything, of course. Gods, their messengers, and mankind.)

Angels don’t need to sleep. Bluhen still does, for a reason that he can’t comprehend. But then again, they are still kin, and there is nothing to be gained from needless intervention.

He’s passed the younger angel’s room five times by now; the nightly patrols that keep him circling around the silent halls in some sort of ritual dance. No one would be able to sneak into the temple without him knowing, but he goes through the motions anyway - a formality self-sent.

If all is as it should be, then nothing will happen. The night will turn over to day, and the humans will come again. 

Richter walks past the fountain, into the courtyard fenced by elegant pillars of granite. The sky is cloudless tonight; the stars scattered amongst them in a swathe of glitter, like glass. There’s a certain sanctity to the silence; a small world without the noise of men, bracketed by fresh snow.

He closes his eyes.

 

> (“Wow, I thought you didn’t sleep. Now you’re dozing off while sitting down.”
> 
> “I”m not sleeping. I’m meditating.”
> 
> “Yeah, sure you are.”)

 

Any other angel would have stood up when the messenger arrived - but he did not, because he already outranked them. With his power, he would have been more than entitled to a seat in Heaven itself - but he’s chosen to remain here, to fulfil his duty.

“ _Ainchase Ishmael - Richter. The Heavens decree that you are to retrieve your wayward kin and return him to Heaven._ ”

The voice of the messenger is a carefully sculpted monotone, not too different from his own. He opens his eyes and gives them a once-over - a pale face, simple robes, lucent wings. Very clean and pristine, but lacking sentience. Just a servant without a personality.

“Acknowledged. You may go.”

A doorway of light opens behind them, and they are gone.

 

(What have I done?)


	2. Chapter 2

“So, did you actually sleep?”

Richter doesn’t look up. He remains kneeling in the prayer hall with his eyes closed, his robes fanning out around him like some sort of flower. The air within the chapel is cold and clear - it won’t be like this for long, but it’s all the reason to enjoy it while it lasts. 

“No.”

He knows the layout of the hall by heart. The rows upon rows of stone-hewn seats, the tapestries laid out in alternate spacing with stained-glass windows. And the altar, of course - polished marble, cloaked by a silk cover when not in use. Soon the humans will come, awaiting their instructions. And then….

“.... hello? Richter? Did you doze off?”

He opens his eyes. Bluhen peers at him, vaguely concerned but also bemused.

“I didn’t.” 

Richter gets up, his clothes falling neatly back into place in one smooth movement.

“Could’ve sworn you did.” The younger angel touches a finger to his chin, thoughtful. “You’ll be out all day today too, won’t you? I’m a tad worried, is all.”

He looks up at Bluhen’s face. The concern is clearly written in the furrow of his brow and the tone of his voice - emotive, and human; a stark contrast to the flat intonation of other angels. Bluhen is an open book if that book had two covers. He still abided by the code of secrecy and servitude, but his exterior is not one of divine inscrutability but a mask that could have been worn by any mortal. A different method to arrive at the same end, to fulfil his duty.

Sometimes, he wonders if Bluhen has forgotten that angels are never meant to be human.

“I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.”

(He has to be.)

 

The younger angel opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it. Richter takes the opportunity to press on. “I need you to take care of mass and the morning briefing. That’s the best way you can help me.” 

He waits until he sees his sibling nod before turning away, his footsteps clear on the tiled floor.

“— wait, Richter! When will you be back?”

“By sundown,” he promises, a schedule already taking shape in his mind. He has to hurry to keep it.

 

\---

 

> “ _Ainchase Ishmael - Richter. The Heavens decree that you are to retrieve your wayward kin and return him to Heaven._ ”

He stands at the water’s edge, looking out across the lake. The sun will dip below the horizon soon, but in these few minutes it hangs just above the crest of a distant peak, colouring the sky in various hues of red and orange. The sunset is beautiful, and free of humanity. It’s not really strange that the things that are beautiful to him are also devoid of life.

No one will disturb the sunset today. He’s made sure of it, washed away the demon’s blood staining his robes with the purifying light of Ishmael, and put their corpses to the flame. It has always been like this - the occasional portal here and there, in the rural lands away from the Goddess’ protection. He has never questioned why she did not close them permanently; even if she chose not to, there must be a reason. A servant does not doubt his master.

> “ _Ainchase Ishmael - Arme Thaumaturgy. The Heavens bestow you with ascendancy. Wear your new epithet with pride._ ”

Richter turns his gaze from the horizon to his gloved hand, where the remnants of a projection blade twinkle like premature stars.

> _I will personally eliminate those who defy the Goddess._

Those were the words he had recited to take his oath. Somehow, those words feel a little empty now, in the face of what he’s about to do. Even without Bluhen being present, he can already hear the younger angel’s voice, equal parts chiding and concerned.

(Where will you go, Richter? When will you be back? What are you going to do there? What should I do when you aren’t around? Will you be okay?)

It is true that he rarely tells Bluhen anything. But he should understand. It is an honour to serve the Goddess.

He closes his fingers over the fragments of blue glass, and they are gone.


	3. Chapter 3

The morning dawns with snow. White powder drifts from the half-clouded sky, beginning to blanket the temple’s exterior. In this sort of day, Bluhen expects him to be outside, in the part of the garden that’s closed to public. It’s a familiar routine in winter, for the older angel to take time for himself - he claims to never rest, but this is a form of respite as well.

Richter has tells, however small they are. The angle of his shoulders, the refraction of light off his eyes - after so long, Bluhen knows what they mean. As much as Richter denies having emotion, there are still traces of it in his soul, and it shows.

It’s not hard to find him. He is the only one with radiant blue hair, even amongst his kin. Ainchase Ishmael was made with grey hair, and that blue colour is a sign of ascendancy. It is the colour of the boundless sky; close yet alien.

The older angel is standing in the middle of the tiled walkway, his eyes closed. Bluhen dusts the snow off a nearby stone bench, and sits down. A few minutes pass while the silence brackets them; while the snow falls.

“Richter?”

“Yes?”

“Nothing.”

It’s enough to get him to open his eyes - humanly behaviour. He knows Richter’s thought process by heart; that such things are a waste of time and he would rather his sibling do away with it. But he tolerates it regardless, and that is proof of his kindness. 

Richter sighs.

“Do you remember when we first came to Earth?”

Bluhen blinks. It’s an uncharacteristic question - trivial, even.

“Yeah. We left Heaven and came to this village. The decree was that we protect the El under the ground and help the humans live without overtaxing it. Just the two of us.”

“Correct,” then the silence reforms around them and he says no more.

The younger angel waits. Sometimes, there is a pause in their conversations as Richter composes his words; but as the seconds stretch into minutes, it’s evident that no further elaboration would come. If that’s the case, then…

“Well, there _is_ something I need your help with.”

“And what is that?”

He stands up, taking a few steps forward so that he stands directly ahead of his sibling, so that they see eye to eye.

“You’re bottling something up, aren’t you? I can tell. You look really tense.” It’s written in the verse of his stance, as if his mind isn’t completely here. And it’s concerning. “You can talk to me about it, you know. I’ll help and we can make it better.”

Richter’s voice is inscrutable, like glass.

“I know.”

He waits - two seconds, five, but no more than that. There is equal parts annoyance and exasperation written over his face, but he doesn’t care. This is important.

“I wish you’d tell me. I’m kind of tired being holed up in the temple while you get hurt outside. Let me care about you. We’re kin… we’re brothers. ”

“No. That is a human word. Don’t use it.”

(There he is with that again. The human sentiment that he is so exacting about.)

“Then I’d rather you stop denying your very human feelings.”

— Richter’s focus sharpens, the steel solidifying in his gaze in an instant only to dissolve into something else.

“Stop. You forget that we are divinity. We don’t have that right anymore.”

His form flickers before resolving into an orb of light, rising into the winter sky; leaving Bluhen alone with the softly drifting snow.

 

(What have I done?)


	4. Chapter 4

Even then, he couldn’t leave.

Richter floats above the temple and amidst the wispy clouds, looking down. Even without physical eyes, their spirit forms could still perceive the world around them, the shapes and colours blending into a tapestry of light. Everything looks so small at this height; buildings, the trace of now-frozen rivers, and a valley leading to the distant sea.

At this height, humans didn’t seem to exist anymore.

It has been four days since the messenger came. Four days which he should have spent on his mission, but he could not bring himself to leave. He needed to make sure Bluhen could continue without him. Their task was not only to protect the land, but also to guide the humans. In case of a demonic incursion, Bluhen would also need to fight them; his grasp on projection has never been as good. What if something happened, and Richter wasn’t around to help him?

Angels cannot die, but that only meant they were consigned to a fate worse than death.

Even so. To choose between his duty, or his kin… he knows that there is only one correct option. 

He descends as night falls, footsteps sharp on the fallen snow. Bluhen is in the library, reading by the light of a spark conjured from his hands. The younger angel does not look up, and so Richter waits - only a few paces away, but that distance feels like an eternity.

Eventually he looks up, closes the tome, and sighs. There is no anger in his eyes, only resignation.

“Well?”

Richter looks away - an inch or two to the side, no more. “I’m sorry.”

“Mm.”

 

It’s winter, so there are no sounds of nature to muffle the silence, sharp like glass and cutting deep. Angels are not meant to have free will. Dissent is heresy. To be human is heresy. And he knows more than anything else, that heresy must be punished.

“I have a new mission. I will be away for a long time.” 

Bluhen closes his eyes.

“You’re not coming back?”

“................................. I don’t know.”

Richter cannot lie. This the two of them know very well, that his ambiguity often leads in to the contrary. 

“Okay.”

The younger angel’s voice is surprisingly calm, as if he had been expecting this all along. It’s rather anticlimactic; but perhaps that acceptance came to him as naturally as emotions did, of the fact that things must change. And it is this acceptance that stings the most, because Richter does not think he deserves it.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Bluhen gets up from his seat, tucks the chair back in, and walks over to face him. They are the same height, with the same face and the same voice - but their resemblance ends there. Richter wears the mantle of dignity and restraint, so that Bluhen would be free to grow and bloom into the free spirit he had wanted to be. But in doing so, their souls have diverged; as distant as the sky and the earth below. 

“I’ll be fine.”

Richter sees his smile, but it only makes him feel hollow inside.

The Heavens would not have cause to question them, if every mission was completed as it should be. That was his plan, and it has always worked up till now.

“Are you sure?”

“I am. You’ve taught me so much, after all. And I wouldn’t be a good angel if I couldn’t fulfil my duty.”

It’s hard for him to read Bluhen’s feelings, as alien as they are. But maybe, he can believe in the younger angel, just as how Bluhen had believed in him, to return after every difficult task.

“Um, Richter? You’re crying.”

He blinks, sees his vision clouded by a misty sheen. Maybe, it’s the proof of his humanity, however faint it has become.

(How much longer can your light continue to blot out someone else’s sins?)

“I am?”

Something glitters at the corner of Bluhen’s eyes, even as he fishes out a square of cloth from his pocket and holds it out.

“You are. Ahaha, you’re still a softie inside.”

Richter hums, taking the handkerchief and dabbing at his face.

“I’ll come back. It might take some time, but I will. I promise.”

Richter cannot lie, and so every statement he makes must become reality, no matter the cost. But even then, it is a price he is willing to pay, not just as Ainchase Ishmael, but as himself. Even if the two of them are as different as the sky and the earth, they are still kin. There will never be another like them.

(It is an honour to serve the Goddess.)

 

—— Ten days until Heaven’s deadline


	5. Chapter 5

[♫](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s-HRZwQMkJ8)

 

Richter went north.

The snow turns from a gentle drift to a blizzard several dozen miles out in the mountains. Without the stabilizing effect of the El, the weather rages with cruel indifference - frost in winter, blazing heat in summer; leaving the land barren and devoid of life. It was for this reason that the humans did not expand beyond their current boundaries; it was impossible without the blessing of the Goddess.

But angels are not human. He flies over the valleys and peaks without hindrance, a bright blue meteor piercing the torrents of ice and wind. Northward he must go, for the world ended there, and so would his mission.

Heaven is like the distant sky; pervaded by light, but ultimately empty. He still remembers his time there in a garden crafted from projection, when Ainchase Ishmael was not yet ready to leave for the mortal world. Without Bluhen to pester him, those memories surface again - crystal clear yet alien, as if that life ceased to be his the moment the darkness came.

Angels are not human. They are meant to serve without question, which had been the norm for millennia. But what if the divine wished to speak with humanity? If the Goddess were to descend, her very radiance would blind mortals who come to behold her. It is for that reason that angels were made in the shapes of men. Yet, to be human is to invite doubt, and it would be heresy for an angel to turn away from her will.

If he is to shield Bluhen from the watchful eyes of Heaven, then he must be perfect himself.

 

> “I’m scared……”
> 
> “Scared? There’s nothing here that can hurt you.”
> 
> The other Ain sits down at the foot of the white tree, reaching out to take his hand. Their fingers interlock together perfectly, as replicas should.
> 
> “I know, but Eden is so big. And I feel so small…..”
> 
> He closes his eyes, remembers a flash of lurid blue; splintered glass glittering like stars.
> 
> “Then, I’ll protect you.”

 

The blizzard stopped at nightfall. The night sky is crisp and clear at this height, a galaxy painted on black canvas with one smooth stroke. Richter is utterly alone, sandwiched between the sky and the silent earth below, for the first and last time.

The world’s edge lay beyond the mountains. The cliffs ended in a sheer drop into darkness, an endless fall into the abyss. That is what most humans know, and what most lower-ranked angels know - that the world has an end to it, and beyond that is a realm of eternal silence. It is here that gods came to die, and the end is littered with their corpses.

Even so.

He comes to a stop on the precipice, manifesting in a flare of blue light. The darkness recoils all around him, leaving behind a small circle of untainted ground. There are no stars nor torches to see by, but he does not need them. Beyond the end, the void ripples like a looking-glass, and his quarry emerges.

Richter raises one hand, and a projection blade appears in his grasp, shining like ice. 

The figure’s hood falls away from his face, revealing grey hair and dark green eyes. They are the same height, with the same face and the same voice; but their resemblance ends there.

“You came. I knew you would.”

The sword is turned, pointed right at the other’s throat, though that gesture is more symbolic than anything else. 

“I told you to leave and never come back.”

 

The heretic closes his eyes, then opens them again.

“I know. But I wanted to meet you again….. Richter.”

 

\---

—— Eden is an imitation. This he came to realize when he left Heaven  
and the garden folded upon itself into nothing. Those trees and blooms  
were imitations, images woven from glass and light. They were not real.

Though, his memories there were real, even if he wished they were not.  
Their proof is carved into his very flesh and bone, in the colour of his hair and eyes.

Even before he left Heaven, his fate was preordained:  
To become the angel who would do anything for the sake of the mission,  
even if it was to sacrifice his own humanity.

(A deed is not sinful if it is decreed by Heaven.)

_“Ainchase Ishmael. The Heavens bestow you with purpose. Become our Executor.”_


	6. Chapter 6

They looked out at the edge of the world.

Beyond the jagged cliffs is nothing. No winds stirred the obsidian crags, no waterfall plummeted into the depths below. The silence is, for all intents and purposes, endless; a profound sort of stillness that mirrors the eternal stasis of Heaven.

“I told you to leave.”

“Mm.”

“If you came back, I would have to kill you.”

“I know.”

The heretic’s voice is measured, composed. Not so different from his own.

“Then?”

“I told you. I wanted to see you again.”

He studies the fallen angel next to him. There are gaping holes in the heretic’s vessel, his limbs unspooling into perfect spirals, pale skin long since darkened to a rotting black. His face is the only part of him that has not yet been corrupted by Henir - the same face that Richter wears, as if a ghost of his past self had come back to haunt him, which it sort of has.

“How foolish,” he says after a long silence, rounding off his words with a sigh. 

They can’t idle here forever, so a decision has to be made eventually. The projection blade still glimmers in his hand, illuminating the darkness with the delicacy of a butterfly’s wings.

He knows that he could not kill the heretic. And he knows that the other knows that he knows; an unspoken acknowledgement that lingers in the air between them. As powerful as he may be, as close to a god as he may be, he still carries traces of memories from the time when he had yet to grow out his wings. This mission is a reminder of what he had always tried to forget. 

“Now that Heaven knows you are still alive, I have to take you back.”

If there is one person that Richter cannot bring himself to kill, it is this angel whom he had already spared before. But the mission has to be respected - if he could not end it here, then the deed would have to be done another way.

“I know.”

There it is again - quiet acceptance, as if he knew it would all end this way. Perhaps he did. Some sort of incomprehensible foreign logic compelled him to surrender himself into death.

Richter is silent for a few moments. The projection blade in his hand vanishes, to be replaced by a chain of bright blue glass. There is no resistance from the other even as he secures the shackles around his inky black hands.

(How foolish.)

“.... you know my title. Do you have a title?”

It’s a little strange, now that he thinks about it. ‘Richter’ was an epithet conferred to him only recently. And it would also bring up another question… what to call an angel who did not receive a rank?

“I do.”

The heretic closes his eyes, serene.

“You can call me… Herrscher.”

—— Nine days until Heaven’s deadline

\---

 

> He dragged the tainted angel through the garden, careful to grab him by his unmarked hand. The trees and flowers were no longer white, instead stained a bright glassy blue; the colour dripping from leaves and petals like blood.
> 
> “Where are we going? H-hey, stop pulling me, it hurts!”
> 
> He doesn't stop, doesn't even turn around.
> 
> “Walk faster. We don't have time.”
> 
> How did the seed of Henir find its way into the Heavens? There must be a breach of security somewhere, worse if whatever carried it here penetrated far enough to infiltrate Eden. No doubt the higher-ups were already doing something about it. If the now-cursed angel was ever found, there's only one fate left for him.
> 
> “So… where are we going?”
> 
> He doesn't know. There isn't so much a solid destination in his mind rather than a concept - anywhere other than here. For his fallen kin, this absolute sanctuary for their kind has become the most dangerous place in the world.
> 
> “Don't ask questions,” he says, and the bitterness in his voice stuns other angel into silence. 
> 
> It holds until they've left the branches of Eden far behind, through marble colonnades and walkways of solid light. He doesn't stop walking until they're at the very end of Heaven, a platform with paths leading to several arches, all of them empty save one.
> 
> “So……?”
> 
> He walks up to the only occupied arch. The doorway is filled with silver, like a looking-glass, beyond which led a road out of Heaven into a realm of eternal twilight. It would be there that Heaven’s eyes would not reach, especially if he destroyed the only path back.
> 
> Executor lets go. He turns to face his sibling for the last time. There would be no way the tainted angel would be allowed back. His eyes, formerly a bright jeweled green, have already turned dark.
> 
> “Listen to me. This place is dangerous for you now. You must leave.”
> 
> “No!”
> 
> The younger angel clutches his older sibling’s hand, holding on for dear life. His grip is so tight as to be painful, but it pales in comparison to the burning in Executor’s chest - the distinct sensation of his core collapsing and reforming all at once.
> 
> “There's no time. If they find you, you will die. If you go, you will still have a chance to live. Do you understand?”
> 
> “But I don't want to! Why must I die? I didn't even do anything!”
> 
> He closes his eyes.
> 
> “Because this is the will of Heaven,” he says, ripping his hand free of the other’s grip and pushing him backward into the portal. “Don't ever come back.”
> 
> Executor yanks the pendulum from the fallen angel’s hands and smashes it on the gate’s pedestal. It shatters in a shower of smoke and glass, and so does the liquid surface of the portal, returning to an empty arch once more. 
> 
> The heretic would have never existed in Heaven’s eyes. His broken pendulum would be proof that he perished by the hands of his own kin. 
> 
> (What have I done?)


	7. Chapter 7

> “I have eliminated the heretic.”
> 
> He stands before one of Heaven’s many judges. The celestial is faceless, like all the other angels. Their visage is wreathed with light, form twisted upon itself to a foreign elegance - most of the divine are like this, which sets him aside as human-shaped and unnatural. 
> 
> It does not bother him. Few things do, especially not the weight of a broken pendulum in his hand; the weight of a single lie.
> 
> _“Ainchase Ishmael - Executor. Your contribution has been acknowledged. For your service, you will be granted a new mission.”_
> 
> Two of the celestial’s many arms move back to withdraw a panel of glass. Beyond which lay a cocoon folded from white wings and dusted with stars, feathers encircling a sleeping angel within. They have the same face, the same hair and the same form, as if he was looking into a mirror at his past self.
> 
> (After all, angels are replaceable. He will live only as long as he can be useful.)
> 
> _“You will train another in serving the Goddess.”_
> 
> The angel who would be titled Anpassen had no memory of the time before his awakening. And maybe, it would be for the best, for him to live a life without dreams of blue glass.

 

\---

 

It has been two days since Richter left.

For the first time, Bluhen feels empty. He couldn’t remember a time when the older angel had not been by his side, a reticent figure who was nevertheless always ready with answers. As time went by, their titles changed, and the answers dried up; but in its place he learned to watch for hints. It is to read his kin that he learned the melody of emotions, to find some refrain or verse in Richter’s hyaline soul.

Even if he renounced being human, he only did so to let Bluhen have that right.

But Richter isn’t here anymore. His absence is louder than any words he might have spoken.

Bluhen doesn’t sleep tonight. He walks to the temple’s pantry, lighting a small fire for the kettle. Richter - no, Arme would often make tea for him, back in those days where both their epithets had been a lot longer, on the nights where he hadn’t yet learned how to sleep. Arme never said anything, but his silence is all that was necessary.

Now, there is no one to share the tea with him, so all he can do is gaze wistfully into his cup and wish otherwise.

> (“Do you remember when we first came to Earth?”)

His sibling rarely mentioned anything without good reason. There must be some hidden meaning in those words, a clue to what troubles him so. As a responsible younger brother, he must do something about it.

But Richter isn’t here anymore. He cannot ask him, so he must ask another angel. To do that he must return to Heaven - where it all began.

 

\---

 

An angel needs his pendulum to return to Heaven. Bluhen is glad that his worked, because he’s never tried to use it before.

Heaven is like the distant sky; pervaded by light, but ultimately empty. The glittering plane is lit not only from braziers but a hidden background aurora that dusts everything in a surreal glow. Bluhen feels a little out of place here; his clothes blooming with the hues and tones of the Earth, contrasting darkly against the pure white all around him.

He stops a passing celestial to ask for directions. It’s difficult for him to determine where its voice came from, for it had no head; only a body trailing several wings and spindly limbs. A flower opens on its chest to reveal a cluster of eyes, spinning slowly clockwise.

「 I did see another like you. I thought you had gone that way. 」

The angel indicates a branching corridor, and he sets down the marble colonnade at a brisk walk. He could feel Richter’s presence faintly at this distance - but as he approaches, that light becomes eclipsed by a shadow.

(What could possibly dim his sibling’s radiance? The possibility had never occurred to him.)

Bluhen breaks into a run. His footsteps echo throughout the hallways of painted glass in time to his human heartbeat, through a silent maze that seems to stretch on forever. He has to dodge a few celestials along the way - usually, he would have apologized, but there isn’t time.

Finally, a speck of blue appears at the end of the hall. He doesn’t stop running until he comes right up to Richter’s side - the older angel has his back to him, looking at something also blue.

“Richter….!”

Bluhen braces himself against the wall, willing his breath to return. His gaze goes from his sibling’s form to the structure hanging from the ceiling - a geometric cage built from projection, encircled by runes and chains of light. Something dark is encased within, a coiled mass of black and green.

“Richter?”

The older angel turns around. In the sterile light of Heaven, he suddenly looks a lot more fragile.

“You…. why are you here? Why did you abandon your post?”

“I wanted to see you. I had a bad feeling, and I thought I’d find you here.” He frowns, taking a step forward to study Richter’s face, looking for signs of discomfort. “What h—”

The darkness moves, swirls; the tendrils draw back to reveal a humanoid form. 

Bluhen gasps. Gazing back at him is something wearing Richter’s face. Yet everything about this being is starkly different - inky blackness dripping the taint of the Void, kept at bay by his sibling’s light. 

(There will never be another like them.)

He looks from the fallen angel to Richter, then back again. There is something mesmerising about the stranger’s eyes, but he cannot remember why.

(What has he done?)

“Richter…. you can explain, right?”

The older angel closes his eyes. There is no sound in accompaniment, but Bluhen can tell that something has broken inside him.


	8. Chapter 8

In the end, Bluhen was the one who spoke first.

He’s not sure who to look at; the dark stranger restrained by light, or his brother flickering like a candle. He has two eyes, but he can’t make them face in two directions like other angels, because he made the decision to become human.

He must choose. In the end, he picked the one closer to him.

“Richter… let’s go home.”

He walks up to the projection cage and tugs at his sibling’s hand. He turns, but only in the manner of a marionette; his pale eyes painted with a glassy sheen. Bluhen musters a smile despite his uncertainty, feeling for all the world like a man in a house of dolls.

“You must be tired from all that work. You need to rest.”

Richter looks through him, his mind elsewhere, but at least he follows when they start to walk away. All the while Bluhen can feel the stranger’s eyes on them, a silent gaze that doesn’t diminish no matter how far they have left the crystal prison behind. However, it does not feel malicious - just present, as if he had suddenly become aware of something as natural as breathing.

(Who are you?)

Bluhen leads his sibling to the edge of Heaven, where the gates are. The arches stand silent, and it is with some difficulty that he manifests a silver portal inside one. He has never been to any other place, so this portal from his memory should take them home - but he’s not sure.

He casts a glance at Richter, who does not object. Then, it should be fine. They walk through the mirror-glass, a short fall through cold water, and are outside again.

The snow is falling when they return. The flakes are smaller now, barely pinpricks dancing in a soft breeze. Soon the seasons will turn - Bluhen knows, from the whisper of promise on the winds, from the verdant song which his sibling can no longer hear.

The garden will bloom again come spring. If only he could convey that hope.

“Richter….?”

The white angel seems to unfreeze, a statue coming to life.

“Yes?”

“Oh, good.” He’s responsive. Not quite alive but responsive, free from that strange fragile stupor that had consumed him in the stranger’s vicinity; and the relief blooms into a smile on his face. “Um…. I can make you some tea if you want. You’ll rest a bit, right?”

“I will,” he says, and closes his eyes again.

Richter doesn’t leave the garden. There are humans in the main body of the temple, but they won’t come here. Bluhen makes him some tea, picked from herbs he had carefully pressed the previous autumn, the teapot kept warm by magic invoking summer. He still feels the presence of a foreign gaze, but even that feels like something natural, only that he has forgotten why.

They sit in the pavillion while the snow falls, bracketed by silence. It’s a strange sort of deja vu as they enact a scene from their younger times, but he finds it comforting all the same. He would be content to stay there until the sun went down, but an angel still has responsibilities; so when someone calls him from the corridor, he has to answer.

(Duty before affection. Would Richter be proud?)

Bluhen removes his coat and lays it on his sibling’s shoulders. The snow crunching under his footsteps is startlingly loud, and he thinks he now understands the value of silence.

 

\---

 

He’s dreaming again.

The garden is blue this time,  
the flowers and trees in disarray  
as if trampled over by a furious breeze.  
Broken branches are strewn over the ground,  
bearing scars from shattered glass. 

Some of those wounds are still fresh,  
blue liquid dripping out of snapped twigs  
and onto the grass, onto him. 

The colour soaks into his robes and into his hair,  
until all he can see is blue upon blue upon blue;  
the colour of angel’s blood.

The garden is blue, and empty. He is the only one left.

 

\---

 

The moon is out by the time he returns. Richter is where he had left him, the moonlight pooling on his hair and the pure white of his robes. His eyes are closed as if asleep - or maybe, just meditating.

He sits down next to his sibling, his elbows propped up on the pavillion table, and waits.

The wind stopped at some point. So did the snow, and all that is left is a feathery silence that settles over them. Bluhen relaxes, willing his perception to spread over the garden, listening to the sleeping earth below. 

Eventually, Richter opens his eyes. His gaze is lucid, but his irises have turned almost white.

“I have something to tell you.”

(He waits, because Richter cannot lie, and keeping a secret hurts him beyond measure.)

“Before you were made, there were many more of us in Heaven. Those who could not fulfil their mission never left.”

 

—— Eight days until Judgment


	9. Chapter 9

[♫](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ubMf__iB8iI)

 

It’s quiet here. The fallen snow muffles all sound into a surreal sort of serenity. Bluhen is afraid to speak, because any sound might shatter the silence, and his sibling’s composure with it.

 _I will protect you_. That was what Richter said so long ago, in that first memory of Heaven. He remembers it clearly as if it was yesterday, and Richter had always fulfilled that promise. Whether it is on the battlefield or minutes before a speech, he had always been there to take charge. Is this then part of that same promise? To protect him from what he doesn't know?

(Of all the things to have a human sentiment about, he had chosen this one.) 

But things are different now. They are no longer the freshly fledged angels who had just left Heaven, but a god and a sage of the earth. There is nothing that he can read from Richter’s pale eyes, but there is no need for it.

> _“Ainchase Ishmael - Erbluhen Emotion. We bestow upon you with a new epithet. Bless the land in the Goddess’ name.”_

Richter had insisted on walking ahead, but by turning away, he blinded himself to the flowers that bloomed in his wake. The silence that torments him had been audible to Bluhen since a long time ago. Now that it had been forced to surface, he has an opportunity to fill that void with music again. 

“Heaven is like that, huh?”

Bluhen says this quietly, meeting Richter’s solemnity with a thoughtfulness of his own.

“Heaven does not tolerate failure. They have no use for the weak.”

After all, angels are replaceable. They will live only as long as they can be useful. And Richter… he had mourned the dreams of those who had fallen, because he had been kind; his first and only sin.

(He never had a choice.)

Bluhen says nothing, reaching out to take Richter’s hands. His sibling’s skin is cold; the same temperature as the winter air around them, icy and lacking life.

It is time to repay that debt. _It is time for me to protect you._

 

\--

 

Richter went to bed.

For the first time in a long while, he didn't protest when Bluhen pressed him to - he doesn't sleep, but he still needs rest. He is powerful, but not infallible, something that Bluhen suspects he is beginning to realize.

Pride comes before a fall, even if that pride is sourced from devotion. But then again, that is why Bluhen is here, to catch him.

He makes his way through the marbled corridors with a seriousness that would have surprised the humans who worked with him. His footsteps are light on the stone tiles, keeping the crystalline silence relatively intact, even when he moves from the building and out into the garden.

Bluhen holds out a hand, and his pendulum appears in a soft bloom of light. His is coloured the green of spring and the white of snow, but it still pales against the radiance of Heaven and the doorway of light that will take him there. Going through the portal makes him feel as if he was falling, and it pricks a faint spike of fear into his core; the fear of losing control. 

Then his feet find purchase on luminous brick, and he has to will himself not to trip. 

Heaven is much the same as he last remembered it. The light pervades everything, bleaching the life out of the marble, and it makes him feel very small.

Still, he has a mission to fulfil, and he must be back before sunrise on earth. He can't ask anyone for directions this time to avoid arousing suspicion, so it is fortunate that he has another way to track down the person he came to find. They are also kin - he's sure of it, because he can feel the stranger’s presence in the same way as he can feel Richter’s, only upside down.

It takes a while to walk there. The scenery blends into one another, repetitive patterns of blocks and spaces that probably extend out towards infinity. Other angels cross his path at intersections and parallel roads, but they do not spare him a single glance. He looks up at their alien forms, and can’t help but wonder. What do they see? What do they live for?

(It is an honour to serve the Goddess. But why?)

He comes to a stop in front of the stranger’s cell. The crystal prison is very much intact, the bars and geometries rotating ever so slowly in retrograde to the fallen angel’s form. The stranger turns, tendrils and all, looking down.

“You came. I knew you would.”

Bluhen looks up, meeting those dark eyes with his own.

“Mhm. I want to ask you something. Who are you?”

“I am… Herrscher.” Ainchase Ishmael. One who is much more open to questions than the other one he knew.

“You know Richter?”

“I do. He was kind to me. I would not be here if not for him.”

But Richter has never left Bluhen’s side. Then this would be history that ended before he came into existence; a part of that past that Richter tried to forget. He thinks he understands a little more now, even if it makes the tangled web of omission more difficult to unravel.

“Why are you here, then? What does Heaven want with you?”

Herrscher sighs, a soft fluttering sound, yet it echoes with the depth of a whale-bone harp.

“Heresy must be punished.”

Bluhen takes a step forward, a frown coming unbidden to his features. 

“Not if I've got something to say about it.”

Heaven is inscrutable. Heaven is incomprehensible, but Heaven is not irreproachable. He's sure Richter would understand - the wish to not lose anyone, anymore.

These dreams of blue glass must come to an end.


	10. Chapter 10

Bluhen sits cross-legged on the polished floor, looking up. The luminous background of Heaven is a stark contrast to Herrscher’s form, still trapped in his crystal prison. The darkness spills out of his body and curls against the bars of the projection cage, and it reminds Bluhen of smoke upon water.

Heaven said, heresy must be punished. But it does not make sense to him. Why wait? Why hold someone so dangerous in a cell unguarded? Why doesn’t Herrscher bust himself out and leave?

He looks up, and Herrscher meets his gaze with calm acceptance. His eyes are filled with a taint alien to Heaven, yet he seems so much more present and alive. It’s mesmerising, and Bluhen cannot help but stare.

(Why?)

“Who are you?”

The words come unbidden, a natural conclusion to the silence. He watches the fallen angel move a little in his cage, hair swishing behind him in a delayed echo.

“I am Herrscher.”

“I know that. Where were you?” And, what have you done?

Another few beats of silence, as Herrscher swims idly in his prison, looking for all the world like a black-and-green fish.

“Do you know about the Reverse World? Or is it too knowledge that Richter has kept from you?”

“It’s where human souls go when they die. And it’s at the end of Earth. I’ve never seen it, though.” Richter wouldn’t let him, that’s for sure - but there had never been a reason to. He had been content staying in the temple with his sibling, tending to the place and the people outside it. And it might have ended that way too, if not for all this; those days of peace unravelling all at once.

Herrscher hums.

“That is correct, yes… but its true nature is that of the Void, where all of existence comes to an end.” 

“And you were there? Then how did you come back?”

People are supposed to die when they are killed. But then again, Herrscher isn’t a human. He was an angel. As for what he is now…. Bluhen isn’t sure.

“Because I wanted to,” he says simply, pressing a hand to the base of his prison. A few sparks of blue jump from the bars and onto his blackened skin. If it stings, he doesn’t show it.

“Because you wanted to, huh.” Bluhen echoes thoughtfully, tapping his chin with a finger. “Did you miss us?”

Herrscher turns away, just a little. Even then, his face is unreadable; his placidity distinct from Richter’s silence, but both had the same inscrutable quality.

“Time ceases to mean anything, in the Void. I see everything from that place. Every timeline, every world. I was once Ainchase Ishmael, as well. I watched you, even if we would never meet again.”

“That was you?” The feeling that had lingered behind Bluhen all this while, only that he was not cognizant of it until they met in person.

“Who else, my dear Bluhen?”

He flinches, a sudden stab of ice up his spine, something alien and familiar juxtaposed into one.

“... Why? Why did you come here, if you knew you were going to die?”

Herrscher says nothing, gazing at him with those dark green eyes. A voice sounds inside his mind, soft and youthful; so different from the deep timbre of a body long since lost to the abyss.

Heaven decrees that we are to give up our bodies and our souls at their whims. Many already have. Would you follow their example, and let them be forgotten?

Bluhen remembers - a night where Arme Thaumaturgy had sat out in the garden, the stars reflected upon his pale eyes, dreaming of broken blue glass. A time that seemed so long ago, yet so imminent as if it had just been yesterday; because those are also Richter’s eyes, distant and unseeing.

He answers without hesitation.

“I wouldn’t. And neither would you.”

Herrscher nods, just once; and it’s all the confirmation Bluhen needs.

 

—— Seven days until Judgment

\---

 

For what purpose do we live? For whose purpose do we die?

He paces back and forth along the garden walkway in time with the sunrise. The light filters over the marble walls, illuminating the snow inch by inch. Soon the humans will come; the mortals who decree their own purpose under the Goddess’ watchful eyes. They are free - it is painfully obvious to him, for they go home every evening, and he does not. The temple is his home, just as how servitude is built into his soul. 

(You forget that we are divinity. We don’t have that right anymore.)

Is that true, though? Is Richter still wise if he chooses to look only within?

Bluhen leaves the garden. He makes his way through the marble halls in silence, opens the door to his room in silence. Richter does not sleep, and logically he denied the offer of having a bed for himself. In turn Bluhen had lent him his, and it gives him a strange sort of dissonance to see his sibling under the sheets.

“Richter….?”

Silence. Bluhen sits down by the bedside, brushes a few loose locks of hair away from his face. Richter’s eyes are closed, his sleeping expression softer than the usual indifference his wears; almost... almost human, as it were.

“You must’ve been really tired. But that’s okay. I’ll take care of stuff now.”

Humans may be temporary, but there’s still wisdom in their lives. Just as Herrscher had watched from the Void, Bluhen has also observed them in the mortal world. If Ainchase Ishmael was to live on Earth, then things must change; because the eternal stasis of Heaven is nothing like this.

But before that happens, they must be in agreement. Bluhen does not know how exactly he can free Richter from his self-imposed inner exile, but he must.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had some RL stuff to handle so updates were put on hold. They should come more frequent now.

He’s in the library again.

Bluhen sits here sometimes, the books illuminated by an Eid’s warm glow. He didn’t have the leisure to read in the daytime, so he must come here only after the humans have all left, when the silence sinks in. The volumes here are mostly practical, with little fiction or writings of the past. They told stories of how to care for the Earth, of the humans that came before this sleepy town, of the rivers and the sea beyond. But they did not carry anything about the angels - this he noticed, after poring through weathered and fresh tomes alike. 

Humans too have no knowledge about the angels, only that they are messengers of the gods. But other angels must have existed before them - to build this world, to fend off demonkind, to teach the humans. Where did they come from? Where did they go?

He already knows the answer. He can hear it now, in Herrscher’s soothing voice - that they were forgotten. The Goddess is not infallible, and neither is Her will. After watching humans for so long, he’s sure that there must be a better way, to not bind these angels to a code unsuited for them.

But how to get through to Her? Somewhere within the vast halls of Heaven lies Her realm. Bluhen needs Richter’s authority to open those sacred gates. And he cannot let Herrscher be executed, either - there is not much time to save the both of them.

Strength from unity. That was one of the things he learned from humans. It is for this purpose that he steps into the corridor of light once more, to speak with his brethren in Heaven.

 

\---

 

It’s easier to find Herrscher now that he knows what he’s looking for. Even if the corridors have changed in height and form, he can locate the other angel quickly; as if following an unseen thread that had always been there. 

Bluhen stands this time, leaning against a nearby wall while he listens to the dark angel talk about himself. Herrscher did not die upon falling into the Reverse World, and the void has changed him since; letting him gaze back into the living realms. He knows many things, of the seas and the skies that he would never step into, of the humans that came and went. He was both everywhere and nowhere at once; the unseen presence that watched over his untainted kin, because it was all he could do. 

Logically, most of these are baseless claims, but Bluhen feels compelled to trust him. Richter had said they were all made for the same purpose. Even if the older angel might disapprove of him snooping around Heaven to meet a ‘heretic’, they were still family. 

Family should not have to fight amongst themselves. It is for this reason that he is still here, looking up at Herrscher’s crystalline cage. 

“You can’t just bust out of that, can you?”

“I cannot. Richter made this cage. He must release me.”

“But that’s heresy.” — is what Bluhen says reflexively, knowing that Richter would not disobey. “Is there a way to relieve him of that duty? To appeal for your life?”

Herrscher doesn’t reply. Bluhen waits, the same way he does when Richter ruminates; and is given an answer after a long while.

“Only the Goddess can decide if her creations live or die.”

Bluhen looks down at the polished marble floor, sees his reflection bearing a frown. How naturally it comes to him, and how absent it is on any of his siblings.

“I’ve never seen her. Not even once.”

“Not even once,” Herrscher echoes. “The Goddess lies beyond reach for all of us.”

“Even for him?”

“Even for him.”

“I see… Then what? What do we do?”

The dark angel floats a little closer, rests a hand against the bars of his cage.

“If you could release me… I could spirit all of us away. To a world where we would be free from our duty and live as we please.”

Bluhen lifts a hand to his chin in thought. “You’re talking about the Reverse World, aren’t you? There’s nothing there.” No flowers, no trees, no boundless blue sky. There are none of the things that he had come to love about the world of the living; only an endless sea of silence.

“I am. There is nothing there that you are familiar with, but there is freedom.”

And maybe, that’s all the solace he could offer. Gazing upon him now, Bluhen notices more of the holes in his body, his form closer to that of a crumbling lich. Perhaps that was what he had become, a perversity of creation; but he still remembered the light of Heaven. He still came home, even if that home no longer wanted him.

Is freedom really worth the price of losing everything?

“I don’t think that’s the best outcome. I don’t think what Richter wants would be best, either.” He could not bear to kill Herrscher, that much was apparent. “I want us to be able to live together again. I don’t want us to fight. Because we’re family.”

If humans can find new families, then surely he can too.

He studies Herrscher’s face, sees the slight crease of a resigned smile somewhere in those eyes.

“I’ll talk to Richter again tomorrow. You’ll help me convince him.”

For all his strength, the older angel only ever looked inward. With the knowledge gained from the abyss, he could learn to see from another’s point of view - at least, it was what Bluhen had hoped, and now set out to make it a reality.

 

\---

 

The stars turn across the sky, and the world turns in tandem.

He’s never actually seen those, of course. His only memory of Earth was a long, long time ago, in a land full of ash and bone. Then someone had pushed him over the precipice, and it ended there.

But he knows of the stars. He knows of the world that lies beneath the sky, of the lands and seas, and of the quaint temple that stood on a distant shore. He saw them through reflected on mirror-glass as space-time broke apart all around him, pinpricks of light amongst the unending darkness. And he had seen them, spun the shards as he idly drifted through nothingness, of two angels bearing his face.

All things come to an end. A life, a nation, a world. He had seen the soil turn to ash while Heaven glittered unchanging. He had seen them die countless times, their bodies splintering into blue glass in a myriad different ways, either by their own hand or that of an unfeeling world. 

There was nothing he could do other than watch them die, seen through countless fragments mirroring worlds and timelines. In each and every shard, Ainchase Ishmael was fated to be forgotten. There would be none left to remember them, as ephemeral as the beat of a butterfly’s wings, disappearing at Heaven’s decree.

> “Why must I die? I didn't even do anything!”

_Enough_ , he said to the endless night. _This is enough._


	12. Chapter 12

Richter had asked for paint. It was a very unusual request given the solemnity of his entire being; but it was not an item difficult to procure and so Bluhen complied the best he could. The humans returned with a variety of palettes, but Richter took only a single bottle - blue, the colour of the boundless sky, the hue of the distant sea.

The older angel is seated in the garden now, a canvas stretched out in front of him. Bluhen passed by a couple of times during the day to spy on his work, seeing an abstract pattern take form. First were the recognizeable symbols of an angel’s spell circle, then branching out into various crisp motifs and fractals. It’s very characteristic of him; the neatness of his lines and the focus with which he draws them, projected onto paper instead of the physical realm.

Of course, Bluhen wonders why. There is no immediate meaning to those lines, except to the artist himself. But it is rare for Richter to pursue any sort of permanence, to leave anything behind. The act exudes a certain sort of melancholy that he had also perceived from the angel in the dark. It’s not so different.

It is for this reason that he takes a seat next to his sibling in the evening, his gaze shifting from the paper onto Richter’s pale face. The colour hasn’t returned to him yet, but his eyes are lucid.

“Richter?”

“Yes?”

“How do you feel?”

“Fine,” is the quiet answer. Neither a lie or a truth, but the practiced omission that Richter gives. Maybe it is normalcy, maybe it is avoidance, but Bluhen has not much time left.

“Do you want to visit Heaven with me?”

“For what purpose?”

Bluhen pauses. “To talk to Herrscher.”

Richter gives him a look, equal parts assessing and weary.

“Again?”

“Yeah. I want you to come as well.”

“I have nothing to say to him.”

(Bluhen watches, _notices_ ; the slight shift in his brow, the reflection of sunset in his eyes.)

“I know. But I want you with me. It’ll be emotional support.”

The older angel closes his eyes, and Bluhen waits. One, two, three breaths before he opens his eyes again and sighs - it is not the first time that he has acquiesced, and it won’t be the last.

“Alright, then. Let’s go.”

 

\---

 

When they arrive at Herrscher’s prison, the dark angel does not turn to greet them. He is curled upon himself in a marbled sphere, veins of dark green interspersed amongst his blackened form. Bluhen is not quite sure what to do; whether to call out to him or to wait for his mind to return from wherever it had wandered to. Richter remains silent, so he supposes he’ll have to take initiative.

“Herrscher?”

The darkness ripples and Herrscher unfurls, his pallid features bleached white by Heaven’s light.

“You came.”

He gives Bluhen a nod, but his eyes linger on Richter, who does not return the look.

“I did. I hoped we could talk a while.” Bluhen is careful to keep his voice level. “About what’s going to happen in a few days, and what we’ll do about it. I want us to reconcile, is all.”

‘Is that your intention?” Richter speaks swiftly, his tone empty like glass. “Heaven’s will cannot be defied. I have told you many times.”

“Heaven is not as perfect as you think it is, Richter.”

“Bold of you to speak ill about Heaven when you are in it.”

Herrscher shifts, a half-shrug that may or may not be intentional, the faintest suggestion of disobedience.

“I speak only the truth. You know it too, don’t you? The time has almost come.”

“Wait, wait!” Bluhen cuts between them, obstructing their view of each other. “There’s no need to bring in other things. Let’s go back to the matter at hand, won’t we?”

“Bluhen —”

“Silence,” Richter intones sharply, and Herrscher closes his mouth. Bluhen doesn’t take his eyes off his older sibling’s face, searching for anything that could possibly be a clue.

“Tell me what’s going on, Richter. Please.”

“He will die.” Richter says simply, his gaze unwavering. “This was Heaven’s will ever since he was tainted. I have spared him once, but there will be no third chance.”

“Who tainted him, then? Did you ever find out?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“Does it matter?”

Bluhen frowns, taking a step forward.

“Of course it does. That someone hurt one of us. We would care.”

“ _You_ would care.” Richter corrects him. “Angels are meant to be ephemeral. You were the exception, not the norm. Mercy will not be granted a second time.”

“But how do you know that? Did you ask? I can ask, if you don’t feel up to it. Please, Richter - just tell me how.”

Silence. Herrscher fills it after a few moments, his voice startling Bluhen with its depth.

“To let destiny run its course would erase all of us… would you consign yourself to that fate, Richter? To watch the one you love fade away? Surely it is too much pain to bear.”

“I would sooner die than put him at risk of that.” Richter looks up, conviction crystallizing in his eyes. “You should have listened to me. If you never returned, he would not have these sort of thoughts. I have sinned once, and I will not sin again. Let us be at peace with our mission and our lives.”

> _“Because this is the will of Heaven,” he says, ripping his hand free of the other’s grip and pushing him backward into the portal. “Don't ever come back.”_

Herrscher sighs. It’s a very human act - and it would have been comforting to Bluhen, hearing someone agree with his sentiment, if the tension in the air didn’t already suffocate him.

“Then… I will show you. This fate to which you cling so stubbornly… this fate which you chose.”

Bluhen tries to turn around, to ask what the dark angel meant - but it was too late. The light of Heaven fades out all around them, blotted out by a profound darkness that could only be the absence of everything; the presence of nothing at all.

(Richter, my dear Richter. You were made a fool by your own design.)

 

—— Six days until Judgment


	13. Chapter 13

[♫](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K_4HGh7Hh7w)

 

The days grow shorter now. He has to light the lamps earlier each evening, blowing out the match in his hands once all of them bore flame, sealing the candles with glass so that the fire would not escape. Like many other things, it was merely part of the daily ritual, these small acts that keep time moving. 

Winter is coming. He did not need to be attuned to the earth to know this, the chill of wind outside told him first. Every year, the world sleeps for a season, in preparation for the other three. It has always been like this, and there is no reason for anything to change.

— so he had said, standing in the fading autumn sunlight, fragments of blue glass scattered all around him; shards that turned to dust as night fell and twinkled like stars. 

_Nothing will change._ This he says with a certainty that surpassed human belief, for he laboured to keep it this way. The blue of the sky above had been preserved by the work of angels, after all - he is only the most recent in a long line of such guardians. Nothing should change; and with his power, nothing will.

(He had sinned once, and would never sin again.)

Spring is a distant memory to him. He spent the warmer seasons elsewhere, free from the constraints of a physical vessel, blue light arcing across the sky and skimming the stars beyond - busy, away from the eyes and minds of mortals, as a true deity should. Only when the trees shed their leaves does he return to Earth, to this marble temple where the flowers would always bloom.

For three months every year, he lives as a mortal at the behest of his only kin.

> “Welcome home.”
> 
> “Thanks.”
> 
> “I made some tea. Let’s go sit in the garden, then?”
> 
> “Okay.”

The world outside is cold and the air crystal clear, amplified by his presence. He needs only to sit in the pavilion, and sanctity will spill out of him into the silent night, shrouding it with pinpricks of blue.

Bluhen planted flowers in the garden. The blooms are preserved out of season by divine magic, their vibrance a reflection of summers past. Every year, the green spreads further, turning barren rock into lush plains where animals could eventually move in. Richter has never seen it in person, of course - instead, Bluhen tells him of the places he has visited, the lands that have rejuvenated by his hand. 

Richter sits in the garden, his cup of tea left to cool while he listens to his sibling speak. He no longer needed to eat or drink, but he still took the tea out of lingering sentiment. The autumn breeze is gentle around them, just like how he prefers, and he has to wonder if Bluhen had a part in shaping it so.

“The forest has spread to the mountain’s foothills now. Maybe a couple years later, it’ll cover that too. And then, to the desert beyond.” Bluhen muses, propping up his chin with one hand. “Except it wouldn’t be a desert anymore, maybe a grassland.”

“Was that what it was before?”

“I think so. It was in the books.”

The land had always been blessed by the Goddess, of course. But humanity had misused its powers, and a great disaster left the world barren. This was their second chance, because the Goddess was merciful, and she had allowed them a new place to live. Richter was told of this after his ascension, and naturally Bluhen knew as well. 

(Even then, he still loved humanity. Richter does not understand, but he does not need to.)

“I see. Be careful when you go, then.”

“I will. Look down and maybe I’ll be there.”

Bluhen smiles, and Richter returns it in kind - a slight crinkle of his eyes; the most he can naturally muster from a rusty vessel, but it is enough.

 

\---

 

There is no moon tonight. The clouds parted at midnight to reveal a star-filled sky, the lights twinkling like crystal. Richter stands in the pavilion and looks up, watching for any passing streaks of light that would identify an angel soaring above the sleeping earth. 

In this silence, away from the trappings and roles of a god, he is free to think. He remembers thirty years past, when he had stood in this selfsame garden and looked down, blue glass scattered all around him on a carpet of fresh snow - crystal clear yet alien, as if that life ceased to be his the moment the darkness came.

Richter does not need to turn when the angel arrives, because a deity outranks any possible messenger. But this is unusual; he was not intended to return until the arrival of spring. Heaven would only disturb him for a matter of utmost importance.

_“Richter. Heaven decrees that you bring your brethren home.”_

(But Bluhen’s home is here, on Earth.)

He turns. The messenger regards him with an empty gaze, body twisted upon itself in a sinusoidal loop wrapped with wings. This is an angel sent by the gods that presided over matters surpassing mortal ken, and he must obey; for the hierarchies of Heaven extended in a ladder upward into infinity. He would never be free to refuse.

“Acknowledged. You may go.” 

A doorway of light opens behind them, and they are gone.


	14. Chapter 14

Richter floats above the temple and amidst the wispy clouds, looking down. Even without physical eyes, his spirit form could still perceive the world around him, the shapes and colours blending into a tapestry of light. Everything looks so small at this height; buildings, the trace of sleepy meandering rivers, and a valley leading to the distant sea.

Thirty years ago, the land beyond had been filled with scars, but no more. The world is blanketed with swathes of red and gold, then fading to the pure white of snow on mountains to the north. This was the mission that they were sent to Earth for - to restore and rebuild. Thirty years later, it would finally be complete.

Perhaps, this would be one of the last times he could look upon the world like this. It’s poetic in some ways, but he had long since surpassed the mindset necessary to appreciate it.

Richter lands back in the garden as the sun crests over its marble walls, manifesting in a flare of blue light. He is not alone - Bluhen appears from within the temple halls, his coat hanging ever so slightly off one shoulder, a knowing smile worn neatly on his face.

“Good morning, Richter.”

“Good morning.”

“How does it look from up there?”

“Restored,” is his careful reply. “You have done well.”

He does not have to say it for Bluhen to understand - with their current mission coming to an end, there would only be two paths for their future. Either they will receive another mission, or they would be finally given the rest that they deserved.

Angels are only tools, after all. They are discarded once unnecessary. But that is a destiny that only one of them will bear - Richter had made sure of it, from the past until now. He was the one who had served, and would be the one called to do so again. Nothing will change.

> “ _Richter. Heaven decrees that you bring your brethren home._ ”

Then why does it unsettle him so? 

He returns his attention to the present, sees Bluhen peering at him with concern.

“Richter? Did you get another vision again?”

“I did.”

“What about it?”

( _Something has changed._ A whisper from nowhere, a whisper from everywhere.)

“Heaven… wants you to return.”

( _But why? Richter, did you ever consider why?_ )

“Hmm… well, I guess I’ll go.”

Bluhen has beautiful eyes. The morning sunlight catches on them, their colour pure and reflective like jewels. It makes him pause and watch, wishing to impress the hue into his still-human memory, fragments to hold onto during the months he would be distant.

“You don’t want to stay here?”

“Of course I do.” The other angel sighs, but he is still smiling. “I know what will happen. But… you’ll be with me. That’s enough.”

(Why does Bluhen have the penchant to say the exact things he wants to hear?)

“Alright.”

Richter has a plan. He intends to execute it, because he had been prepared to ever since the beginning. Nothing will change, and he will make it so.

 

\---

 

Heaven feels natural to him now. Much more natural than the world they had left behind - bathed in the same light that now pours from his divine existence, something that his old vessel could never do.

> _“Ainchase Ishmael - Richter. Heaven rewards you for bringing the heretic to judgment. Rise and claim your rightful place as one of the celestial order.”_

He had sinned once, and would never sin again. 

Bluhen follows just half a step behind him, quiet and thoughtful. He cannot see Bluhen’s face, cannot grasp his emotions from his expressions - and he worries if the light is too glaring. Perhaps Bluhen is walking in his shadow, like he always has. He has to trust the other angel to.

They turn away from the arched corridors and into a central hall, ascending in a geometric lift towards the deeper parts of Heaven. Here the walls fall away into walkways of pure light floating in a sea of stars, the realm of celestials far away from humanity. Bluhen reaches for his hand, and he allows it; an anchor for the both of them.

Eventually they come to a cocoon constructed out of crystal, entering through an arch cut into its base. Here is where the higher gods convene, and here is where he must enact his plan.

One of the judges of Heaven floats before them, waiting. Richter stops a few feet away from the concordant entity, silent under the collective gaze of the divines assembled. His human appearance falls away as his wings unfurl, eclipsing the dull lack of radiance behind him.

“I have brought the one you seek.”

The judge shifts, a few of its hands rise away from its body.

「 Acknowledged. You may go. 」

But Richter does not.

“He has completed his mission. What do you want from him?”

He feels Bluhen’s grip on his hand tighten, but he pays it no heed.

「 That is not within your jurisdiction, Richter. 」

But Richter does not care. His light grows harsher, blue fading to the white of intent.

“Tell me.”

The foreign angel is silent for a few moments, one hand picking up a vial of light from the table before it, the other hovering beside its body - poised, and Richter takes note.

「 His mission is not yet complete. We must fully reverse the effects of the Elrian disaster. 」

— which is something Richter had been expecting. Therefore:

“I will take this mission in his place.”

「 Richter. You cannot. 」

(Why? Why would anyone reject him, the most radiant and powerful of angels, the only one that had become a god?)

“I do not see how that is a problem.”

「 You are a divine of Heaven. You will never understand the heart of the earth. Only he can. You made him that way. 」

At this point, Richter would have taken Bluhen and left. But he could not, because gold chains spring out from the floor and from the space immediately around them. He moves to shield Bluhen from them, but they pass cleanly through his ethereal form, and into the very-solid body of another.

( Why? )

“What is the meaning of this?”

Richter does not turn. He looks only at the angel before him, the shock on his face burned indelibly into his memory, watches his body crystallize into stasis by Heaven’s will.

「 He will fulfil his mission. 」

( But at what cost? )

Richter wants to object. He dearly wishes to, but he cannot, even as his entire soul and body rebels against the directive that Heaven has silenced him with. He stands in the middle of the judgment hall, watches Bluhen’s chains teleport him away to some other pocket of space, feeling with each passing moment a deepening emptiness that compels him to scream.

But he cannot. He is no longer human. He is one of Heaven, and distant from the earth.

( What have you done, Richter? )

 

\---

 

The love of an angel is far more pure than that of any human.

The love of an angel is far more devoted than that of any human.

Bluhen.

I was wrong.

There was one thing I loved more than my mission. More than anything else.

(What have I done?)


	15. Chapter 15

There was no meaning in returning anymore. 

Someone else would have taken up Bluhen’s post at his temple. The humans there would never know what had happened. Their lives would continue on as before, cogs in the great machine that Heaven placed upon the earth. Just like the lives of angels.

It is an honour to serve the Goddess. Yet, he cannot forget Bluhen’s expression when he was wrenched away; the shock written plainly on his face as clear as day. The honour is lost on him - it should have been Richter who was taken, for he was prepared to pay any price.

But it is too late. 

He knew when it happened. He did not have to be present to know, to feel the growing emptiness inside him freeze and crystallize into absence; to dream vividly of broken blue glass. The earth grows greener around him, life climbing out of soil and shrub in a burst of light - but he pays it no heed. There is no meaning in his mission anymore, for the one he was tasked to protect will never come back. 

This world is too lonely for someone without a soul. And so he wanders through the realm below, through the cold wind and empty silence, seeking the one whom he had entrusted it to.

 

\---

 

Eventually, Richter went north. 

The snow begins to fall several dozen miles out in the mountains. With the El restored, the winds are not harsh, but he would not have cared even if they were. This body means nothing; he is dead to the world outside, focused only on his search. Northward he must go, for the world ended there, and so would his mission.

North was where the world ended. The cliffs gave way to a sheer drop into darkness, into the liquid surface of the twilight realm. It is here that gods came to die, and the end is littered with their corpses. It is here that he would find Bluhen - the belief that had sustained him after their loss, because he too is a divine of Heaven. The end is where Heaven disposed of their unwanted tools.

He comes to a stop on the precipice, manifesting in a flare of white light. The darkness recoils all around him, leaving behind a small circle of untainted ground. There are no stars nor torches to see by, but he does not need them. 

Bluhen was gone. There is no spark of life within that vessel for Richter to home in on, so he must look the conventional way. He must search every inch of this celestial graveyard, using human eyes and human hands, climbing over bones and ashes centuries old - and he will, because he must. He does not falter even as he cuts his vessel open on jagged scraps of broken blades - the blood that drips from his body is blue, leaving a luminous trail in his wake.

He would not pray to Heaven for a chance to find his kin, because Heaven never cared.

Where are you?

Who would a god pray to for salvation?

Where are you?

But he is beyond salvation now. He is powerful, but not infallible; he had wagered everything on one thing and lost. The sin of a broken vow would never be cleansed. 

Where are you...?

 

\---

 

He finds Bluhen somewhere in that land of ash.

Someone had covered his body with a piece of cloth. Richter throws aside the sheet with scuffed hands, feeling his vessel freeze on instinct even as his mind urges it to move. Bluhen’s face is preserved almost perfectly, with only a small scar to mar his cheek. His eyes are closed; and if not for the sheer aura of death pervading the twilight, he might have seemed merely asleep.

Like all the other dead angels Richter had passed, Bluhen is entirely bone from the neck down. He tries to pick up his sibling’s body carefully, to hold him like how he had asked for so many years ago, but he dares not to.

He places a hand on Bluhen’s sternum, willing blue light to crystallize and give him form. Spears and pillars of light emerge from the ground all around him, textured with the clarity of blue glass. They trace the trails of blue that he had left at the end, shining with the light of an angel in mourning, of wishes left unfulfilled. Because he had been kind; his first and only sin.

 

\---

 

“Richter? You’re here, too?”

“I am. I’m here now.”

“But… why?”

“To be with you,” he says simply, reaching up to wipe the tears from the edge of Bluhen’s eyes, even as his own vision clouds with the colour of blue.

“Richter…”

“I’m sorry.”

Words will never describe what he feels, the discordant flames of despair and hope and love, caged within a body that had ceased to be human long ago. But there is one person who would understand him, and as long as they did, it would be enough.

(I’m sorry.)

To an angel, failure is the ultimate sin. Humans can ask for forgiveness, but angels must atone. There is nothing he can atone with that would ever match that failure. And yet…

“Don’t be.”

Bluhen looks at him, his eyes bright with the hue of jewels, his smile soft and fond.

“You did all you could for me. I’m the one who should be sorry. I became too human.”

“But —”

He touches a finger to Richter’s lips to silence him, like always.

“Now I know why they allowed us to exist, so that my magic could be used for the earth.”

“They killed you. I could feel it.” He says simply, coldly; his calm replaced by resentment and anger in an instant.

“That is what we are meant for, is it not? When our mission is complete, we will disappear.”

(How can Bluhen say such sorrowful things with a smile?)

“No. Not for you.” _Because I wanted you to live._ Says the angel who had become a god, the one full of contradictions, the one who had encased his own heart in glass.

“That’s why I should be the one who’s sorry. I couldn’t fulfil what you wished for.”

“...because you loved the earth, too.” 

To be human is to embrace mortality. The world lives and dies, but winter is always succeeded by spring. And so he had been compliant when they had taken the core from his chest, knowing that death would not be the end for him, knowing that someone will find him again.

(And if he had refused, then the crime of heresy would not have been on just him.)

“Mhm.”

Bluhen takes a step forward and wraps his arms around his older sibling, resting his chin on his shoulder.

“Are you proud of me?”

“Yes. I am.”

“Thank you.”

Blue light flares all around them, illuminating thousands of facets like crystal, like the tears of fallen stars.

 

\---

 

That day, the world bloomed twice.

First was green from the earth. A fountain of light that healed and sealed the scars of old, to wash away the sins of humanity and to forgive. 

Second was blue from the sky. A wave of light spreading from the north, encasing everything in crystal. Flowers of glass sprung up all over the land, petals of blue interspersed with green, to protect and preserve.

The stars shine down on a garden frozen in time, forever hidden from the world around it. 

 

\---

 

「 We have made an error. The timeline must be reset. 」


	16. Chapter 16

[♫](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r7K_BowsTtw)

 

Summer is a distracting season.

The heat fills in from the sunlight above, reflecting off the pale marble walls and tracing scintillance on the floor. It doesn’t quite affect him, but the humans take it a bit hard sometimes - flocking to the shade, sitting by the fountains, waiting for the mist to settle on their faces.

Summer is when the earth grows. He can feel it hum beneath his feet, the whispers of a thousand leaves on the rising wind. Summer is when the earth inhales, where the green will spread, only to withdraw once autumn descends and the frosts come on its heels.

It’s been like this for years. Decades, even - each year mirroring the one before it, like the slow turn of a dream.

Bluhen stands in the shadow of a trellis, reaching up to touch a flower curling around the metal lattice. In this heat, even the wrought iron feels warm, but it is still cool enough for him to touch it without his gloves. The bloom opens at his urging, a soft spark of magic serving sufficient to cast it into the sunlight beyond.

Footsteps sound on the tiled floor; a familiar rhythm that speaks volumes to him. He does not need to turn around - there is only one person in this temple that would have such a light stride, yet remain confident upon his feet.

“Good afternoon, Richter.”

“Hello.”

The sky is radiantly blue in summer, its borderless hue stretching towards the unclouded horizon beyond. Richter bears the same colour on his robes and in his hair, as if a fragment of the sky had fluttered to earth ever so elegantly and coalesced into a human form. 

Richter ceased to be human long ago. But in the picturesque frame of a summer’s day, he could have been human; a quiet man whose eyes reflected the sky above.

(Would that this dream lasted forever; would that duty never came knocking. But, this is only a dream, and all dreams must come to an end.)

His sibling’s wings fan out behind him, composed not of feathers but of white light, sigils tracing fractals of a complexity that only gods can achieve.

“Richter? Where will you go?”

“To Heaven,” is his soft response, his head half-turned to cast a glance backwards. “I’ll be back.”

A doorway of light opens before him, and he steps through it with the grace of a butterfly, leaving only the image of a falling feather behind.

 

\---

 

Night falls late in summer. The humans stay out later as well, congregating in fields and streets to look upward. The sky is cloudless tonight; the stars scattered amongst them in a swathe of glitter, like glass. There’s a certain sanctity to the lights above; while they are faint, their myriad colours still distinguish them amidst the night sky.

Bluhen walks amongst them; the humans acknowledging his presence as he passes by, greeting him with varying measures of friendliness and reverence. Just like how Richter used to patrol the temple grounds, Bluhen now patrols the entire town, to protect the humans living within it. The streets are peaceful tonight; warm serenity drifting on the air and mingling with the varied happiness of the humans around him. 

A woman offers him a candied apple as he walks out towards the lake, which he accepts with murmured thanks. The sweet is freshly made, retaining the crunch of the freshly-picked fruit. To him, it is not only something to enjoy, but also to remind him of the season that is about to come.

Beyond the edge of town lay the fields that humans would tend to in the daytime, then beyond that lay a forest where animals would roam unhindered. And then beyond that… is where this part of the world ended. The crystalline barrier that encircled the township had been drawn up at Heaven’s decree long ago, to prevent the El from cycling too thin. It is there that he must go, to inspect a newly repaired portion that had fallen away some days prior.

The barrier didn’t fail, of course. It never would, given how much strength had been poured into its maintenance. Bluhen’s only duty is to watch over it - Richter tended to the repairs, for only the authority of a god could intervene in something held up by divine force.

Night deepened into darkness by the time Bluhen reached the edge of the barrier. The field is pitch-black save for the light of Eids trailing in his wake, but he did not feel any fear. There is nothing to hurt him, for even wild beasts became tame in the presence of the divine. They did not come to greet him like the humans did, but he noticed them nevertheless - the glowing eyes of cats peering out from the grass, ever watchful under the starlight.

Bluhen’s role is only to watch. He steps up to the barrier and taps it with one hand, a wave of blue light rippling outward from the point of contact. The greenery degraded rapidly beyond the invisible wall, plant life shriveling up into a swathe of dried land. Without the nourishing presence of the El, life could not flourish.

It is not the first time that Bluhen wondered if building the wall was truly a wise decision, but perhaps Heaven intended to expand the town’s boundaries as time passed. It has only been two decades since this part of the world was fenced up, and the gods operate on time scales much longer than the lifespan of any human. 

So be it, then. He must wait, calm the human part of him enough to wait and see.

— a movement in the distance. Bluhen takes a step back, his eyes narrowing as two decidedly non-feline eyes pop out behind a distant outcrop of rock. The Eids behind him brighten to illuminate the area in front of him, revealing what seems to be a human making a rapid approach towards the barrier. 

No, it wasn’t a human. That man bore a single horn upon his head, and the dark aura around him marked him as a demon. Bluhen prepares himself to cast a gust of wind that would hopefully deter the would-be assailant, but the demon puts up both his arms in a clear signal of surrender.

“... Who are you?”

The Eids in his hands glitter brightly, but they do not move from his palm.

“Uh, my name is Ciel. Please, I need your help… my partner is badly hurt.”

With the barrier in the way, Bluhen is only able to barely sense the demon’s emotions. There is definitely turmoil, which would have otherwise prompted him to offer his healing powers… but this is a demon he is dealing with. Heaven turned a blind eye to demonkind, for they had been judged unworthy since the beginning of time. The demons he had encountered before were all intent on snatching the El from underground for various reasons, but this Ciel looked…

… startlingly human.

“What happened?”

“Someone’s out for Lu’s life. We had to fend off some assassins… she’s been poisoned, and I don’t know where to search for an antidote. If your village has a doctor, please take her there.”

Bluhen walks right up to the barrier, lifting his chin so that he could look directly into the demon’s eyes. By invoking Ciel’s memories, perhaps he could verify the man’s claims….

 

\---

 

The air was filled with the stench of sickness. Iron and poison pooled on the barren rock, two colours of metallic liquid reflecting the uncaring stars above.

The manticore had gone. Perhaps its master had already been assured of victory; perhaps he had indeed been too late. There was no hospitality to be had in the demon world for a deposed monarch, and the barren world of light didn’t turn out to be any better. If there was any life or greenery, it was guarded heavily by the sentinels of Heaven. Perhaps here is where their tale would have ended, in a foreign land far away from all that was familiar.

Ciel knelt down, reaching out to assess Lu’s injuries. Large patches of blood stained her dress, and he could not tell where that blood came from.

“I’m sorry… If only I had come a moment earlier… ”

( If one of us perishes, then the other will, too. )

“You fool.” Lu’s smile was pained, yet her eyes were still lucid with determination. “It’s not over yet. You can still stand, right? Then carry me and go towards the north.”

“But —”

“I know, that is where one of the cocoon worlds are. But if we can avoid the angels and find a sympathetic human… then there’s still a chance.” She tugged at the edge of her dress, tearing off a scrap of fabric and holding it out to the man before her.

Ciel nods, taking the makeshift bandage and tying it tightly around Lu’s bleeding arm before hoisting her onto his back. If this was any other situation, she would have reprimanded him for attempting something so ungraceful, but they don’t have the allowance for that anymore.

( _You must hurry, Ciel. For both of us. We must live._ )

 

\---

 

When Bluhen returns his attention to the present, he turns his gaze not to the demon man before him, but to the outcrop that he had emerged from. 

(Angels did not know compassion, but humans did.)

“Bring your lady.” His brows are furrowed, but it is out of focus rather than wariness. “I will heal her.”


	17. Chapter 17

Luckily for everyone involved, the poison of demons is easily counteracted by divine magic.

It was easy enough to heal the wounds of the demon woman. What was difficult was to decide what to do next. The cocoon worlds were guarded by angels, and to abide the enemy would be a grave sin. Yet, Bluhen cannot in good conscience let them go into the wilderness so soon after being injured - their pursuers may still wait outside. Demon or no, they are still people. If only Heaven would understand, but they never will. They are eternal, and unchanging.

For that reason he allows them to follow him; leads them to the outskirts of the sleepy grassland town. There is no one around at this time of the night, letting him escort two horned individuals into the temple grounds.

“I’ll need you two to wear hoods while you’re here. I can arrange a house for you to stay in.” Bluhen walks briskly, directing them away from the main prayer hall and into one of the classrooms. “This won’t be forever, but you can remain until you have healed, as long as you’re civil to humans.” And afterward… well. Demons will never fully become humans. He cannot promise them permanence, but he can promise them some measure of mercy.

The demon man opens his mouth as if to say something, but the woman silences him with a look. Despite her bruises and newly-knitted wounds, she carries herself with an air of dignity; of nobility.

“You are an angel, are you not?” She looks him in the eye - firm but not hostile. “Why would you do this for us?”

Bluhen returns that gaze with one of his own, filled with determination.

“I don’t agree with Heaven’s methods. They cloister themselves above and expect blind obedience, even if it evidently hurts those that serve them. For that reason, I choose to help you, out of my own free will.”

“... I see.”

Lu raises her chin, not breaking eye contact, but her severity softens.

“Well, thank you. I’ve never met such a polite angel in my life.”

(Angels are not meant to have free will. Dissent is heresy. To be human is heresy. Then, so be it.)

Bluhen exhales, a slight upturn to the corner of his lips.

“You can say I’m special. Now, you two should be getting some sleep. We can settle the details tomorrow.”

Eventually, he is alone again, taking his place within the garden, eyes turned up towards the starry sky. He wonders if anyone can see him, alone in one of many cocoon worlds scattered upon the earth, a single grain of sand compared to the vastness of the sky.

But it doesn’t matter. Nothing about it will change. He will never wield power capable of saving the world, but he can save people one at a time.

 

\---

 

He only has to wait for the heat of summer to end. It was an inevitability, to mark of the passage of time. Bluhen is almost indifferent to it now; he does not age unlike the humans around them, frozen in time with a youthful smile. Some nights, he feels like he doesn’t quite belong here, watching others grow old and die while he remains unchanging. Then the sun will rise and he can be amongst the humans again, and their presence lets him forget, if only for a while.

Nothing has changed. The demons have done remarkably well in concealing their different nature - not illicit, he concludes after watching Lu entertain some children, letting them put flower chains on her bandaged hands and the cloth of her hood. Ciel is by her side always, if not directly then in the next room over, a shadow to someone else’s light. They are just like humans - if they had been born without horns, then they would have fit into this town perfectly.

By the time autumn arrives, he feels that he understands. Humans are the mortals of this world, and demons the mortals of another. The distinction between them is as subtle as dawn and dusk; two sides of the same coin. And yet by this single difference of colour does Heaven decree one race to be protected and the other condemned - something so inconsequential in Bluhen’s eyes, so small that it can and should be overlooked.

But he is just one man. He cannot save all the cocoon worlds; he must contend himself with helping just one.

On the first night after the equinox passes, he finds himself out in the courtyard of the temple alone. The full moon coats everything in a fine silvery light, bright enough to produce shadows amidst the colonnades - aye, he is not alone anymore. The darkness ripples despite the lack of a breeze, and two figures step out from within it as if from the surface of a silvered mirror.

“Good evening,” Lu says brightly, her bandages covered neatly by a billowy dress. Ciel stands a little behind her, the moonlight gleaming on his singular earring - he sold the other to buy her a necklace, Bluhen remembers. Ciel had refused all monetary help from the angel, stubborn enough for Bluhen to relent first; if anything, it proved the man’s tenacity. 

“Hey, good evening.” Bluhen tucks his hands into his pockets, the perfect picture of nonchalance. “Glad to see you’re out and about. How are you feeling?”

“Better.” She has to look up to speak to him, but even then she doesn’t let the smugness drain from her composure. “I believe I have made a complete recovery with your assistance. For that, I thank you.”

To that, he shrugs a little.

“It was no problem. Though, what will you do now?”

The demons cannot stay here forever. The two months elapsed is already a long time - Bluhen would like to believe that he had succeeded in averting Heaven’s eyes, but he knows better than to presume something as reckless like this.

“You have quite the charming little town. We have enjoyed our stay here, but it is time for us to depart.”

“I see.” Back to the demon realm, he supposes. A land rife with conflict, or so Heaven claims... but if it could produce people as reasonable as this pair, then it wouldn’t be such a bad place. “I can bring you to the edge of the barrier. You should be safe within its immediate outer boundary as well.”

“That would be appreciated.” Ciel speaks this time - he isn’t carrying anything, to which Bluhen deduces that they intend to not leave any trace of their time here. “Don’t worry about us, we should be able to handle any threats that pop up before we cross over.”

“Alright, then.” Bluhen stops leaning on the tree behind him, dusts some imaginary leaves off his coat. “I can get you there before sunrise.”

 

\---

 

It was easy enough to make the trek to the barrier and then back again before the sun was up. Bluhen had made this journey countless times before, mostly alone, and he could walk there with his eyes closed.

The sky is a light purple by the time he arrived back at the temple. The moon had set, the stars receding into the vanishing night, so that for these precious few moments there is nothing up in the sky at all. Not even a single cloud obscured the canvas above, and he feels alone - small, but in a good way, one man amidst the vast world below.

Bluhen hears the sound of light behind him, faint footsteps trailing stars.

“Richter?”

He knows. He knows that the other knows that he knows; for Heaven is all-seeing toward those that were born to serve the celestial order. Perhaps he had been foolish in hoping that he could change something; perhaps he had been too human in pursuing what would ultimately damn him. But at the end of the day… it meant something to the two people whose lives he had touched. It meant something to him too; his small act of rebellion against an unfeeling world, and that is all that matters.

(You would understand, wouldn’t you, Richter?)

“Bluhen… What have you done?”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains a passing description of violent death, attempted description of eldritch entities, etc

“I choose this path of my own free will.”

Bluhen keeps his head up, his emerald eyes sharp in the blind light of Heaven, his conviction unfaltering. Golden chains bind his arms to something behind him, colder than ice, the unmistakable feeling of being staked. Without glancing back, he knows that his blood is blue. Angels always bleed blue, the colour of the sky. 

「 Ainchase Ishmael - Bluhen. You are charged with heresy and aiding the enemy. 」

He knows Richter is watching. He can feel the other’s presence, a too-bright pinprick hovering somewhere to his left, burning with what little he can comprehend of worry. He knows that he had gone against his sibling’s wish, but it was inevitable. He had made the decision to walk away from Heaven, and now he would pay the price.

Somewhere out of the corner of his eye, he sees two angels come to the pedestal. Each held a projection blade in their skeletal hands, all the same colour of incandescent white. He remains upright even as he senses them behind him, looking up at the faceless puppet of Heaven sitting on the adjudicator’s throne.

“You will never understand how to rule the earth without first understanding emotion.”

He waits, but the sword fall never comes. 

“Stop.”

Richter’s voice, clear as a winter’s day.

「 Ainchase Ishmael - Richter. Interfering with judgment is heresy. 」

He hears the sound of the other’s footsteps, each click echoing through the chamber impossibly far, each step an eternity. Richter comes to a stop in front of his sibling, his back to the other angel, his hair and robes fluttering a little in an unseen breeze.

“I will take this sentence in his place.”

「 Very well. 」

Bluhen wants to object. He dearly wishes to, but he cannot, even as he musters his entire strength to strain against his chains. The metal cuts through his flesh and bone, but he cannot not budge an inch. He remains tied to a pillar of light, watching countless spears impale the angel just a few feet away from him, feeling with each passing moment a deepening emptiness that compels him to scream.

(...!)

Richter shatters like crystal, luminous blue pouring over the marble floor and onto his sibling’s body, the singular hue unbleached by the caustic light of Heaven. The colour soaks into his robes and into his hair, until all he can see is blue upon blue upon blue; the colour of angel’s blood.

Bluhen remembers not the hands that tie a blindfold around his eyes, not the stainless wings that bear him to another place. The messengers set him down in a garden made of glass, arrange his limbs with all the delicacy of handling a doll. There is no life left for those discarded by Heaven, but one saint’s life can buy a sinner a second chance. 

( Or can it? )

「 Listen to my voice, wayward creation. Return to the light of Heaven. Renounce the sin of dissent. 」

The messenger bends down, intent on pressing its elongated forehead against Bluhen’s human body, tendrils reaching out to grasp him and pry open his mouth.

( There is no honour in living a soulless life. )

Bluhen’s lips part, even as his body is staked immobile to the bone-white floor.

“I refuse.”

 

I refuse to forget the lives that have gone past me. I refuse to forget those who have passed on in the name of serving a cruel, ungrateful master. I refuse to forget the gift that my kin have given me. I refuse to forget the colourful, beautiful world.

He sings, a single note with enough force to stagger the celestial backward; a pure sound intoned from his core and echoing through the halls of Heaven. He sings even as crystal spikes sprout from inside his chest and his back, droplets of blue spraying onto the artificial grass around him.

The pillars propping up the ceiling begin to tremble, resonating with the sound of a single wish. Bluhen sings even as the walls come down around him, light fragmenting into fractals of glass, oblivious to the frantic beating of inhuman wings.

( I choose this path of my own free will. )

\---

Somewhere within the abyssal sea, Herrscher hears a sound.


	19. Chapter 19

All things come to an end. A life, a nation, a world. Entire realms turn to dust and flow onward, borne by the tides of time. All things come to an end, and the void is where they come to rest, the never-ending drip of a bottomless hourglass.

He stands somewhere in the abyss, the trickle of fragmented starlight drifting idly from somewhere distant above. The shards of light fall like snow, winking out before they could reach the invisible floor and pile up in drifts of crystal.

“Where are we…?”

Bluhen looks around. There is nothing to be seen for what’s presumably miles around, no horizon, no scenery, no sky. Other than his siblings around him, he is utterly alone, in a silent world.

“Is this the Void?” 

“No. We are in Heaven.” Richter’s voice now, measured and cautious as he always is. He has his arms folded, looking serious but not severe - maybe, just maybe, he has had some change of heart. Or so Bluhen hopes.

“This is a dream. _My_ dream.” 

Herrscher floats a short distance above the floor, the only one to do so. His form ripples out behind him, sways in an unseen breeze. He looks a lot larger when not cooped up in a cage, wreathed by his tendrils and hair.

“Then… what was all of that? Also a dream?”

He can’t help but ask, for it felt real to him. The hazy heat of summer, the sounds and scents of autumn, the smiles of humanity and the tears of an angel. They were as real as the daylight just outside; the lives they had lived on the Earth. 

“That was real. That was one of the futures I had seen in the abyss.” Herrscher holds out a hand, and a crystal shard appears above his palm. The glass shimmers like a mirror, and the image of two angels appear. “I saw you die. You would be apart from one another, by the will of Heaven… and only reunited in death. The fate that would befall you in every world.”

Bluhen falls silent, looking away from the others. He could not deny that - a future where Richter sacrificed himself in vain would have been too painful to bear. And once Richter was gone, there was no one protecting him from Heaven trying to erase what individuality he had… there was no reason for Herrscher to lie, if he had seen their fate.

“Then… what do we do? To stop that from coming to pass?”

“Let me go. With my body, Heaven would learn how to turn back time whenever they wished. To unmake the mistakes that they cannot accept.” Herrscher closes his hand, and the fragment of time shatters into a burst of glitter, only to reform. “If you return me to the Void, they would no longer have that option. They would have to take your demands more seriously.”

But if that were the case… Bluhen looks at Richter, takes in his impassive face. To do that would be going directly against the will of Heaven. What is there to stop them from all being executed?

“If they could do that, we would not be having this conversation. They could have just erased you.” Richter remains unconvinced, his arms folded.

Herrscher sighs.

“They could, indeed. But to do that, they would have to extract that knowledge from my core. And as you know, I am very much still intact. In this timeline, they have not acquired it yet. Time has not yet begun to turn backward.” 

They still have a while before Heaven’s deadline, before the dice are cast. 

“Would you not consider it? For a future where we can all live on.” Bluhen speaks quietly, thoughtfully. 

Richter meets his eyes for a few moments, and then he looks away. “What would you have me do, then?”

“Speak to our maker, for us. Only you have a chance. She at least has some reason to listen to you.” Richter has never disobeyed, never failed. Heaven itself would be hard-pressed to find a flaw in him… or so Bluhen believes. “Ask her for a compromise.”

(It is an honour to serve the Goddess.)

Herrscher nods.

“Make your choice, Richter. Leave me to my execution, and live the fate you chose… or free me from this cage, and free us from the shackles of Heaven.”

Bluhen looks from one of his siblings to the other; the silence between them deafening, punctuated only by the sound of his own anxious breathing.

Half a minute passes, then one, then three. But he does not have to wait too long.

Richter opens his eyes, the resolve finally returned to him, coming to life.

“I need time. Twenty-four hours. Then, you will have your answer.”

 

—— Five days until Judgment


End file.
